


Before Her Eyes

by EdinaSaunders



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: F/F, Gen, OC, OFC - Freeform, post season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23549374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdinaSaunders/pseuds/EdinaSaunders
Summary: Paranormal researcher and investigator, Cassandra Reagan, needs a change of scenery. So, when she moves to California, and into the rather infamous Murder House, she sees it as a new chapter. She may be haunted by her past, but with a new home, and a budding romance with her new neighbor, maybe she'll find her answers to the old mystery of what killed her family. But will she fall victim to the Murder House's morbid history in the end?
Relationships: Constance Langdon/Cassandra Reagan (OC), Constance Langdon/OC, Constance Langdon/OFC, Constance Langdon/Original Character(s), Constance Langdon/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 12





	1. Welcome Home

A fresh start is exactly what Cassandra thought she needed. A big move to the opposite side of the country complete with a road trip in a U-Haul and her only companions being overplayed pop hits on the radio, and Simon, her long haired tabby that sat in her passenger seat, napping for most of the trip. She’d gotten an unbelievable deal on the house. Not a surprise really, considering it’s history, but tragedies and ghost stories were no bother to her. She’d had enough of both in her life that neither fazed her anymore.

Finally, after what seemed like a month of traveling, and by the state of her, you’d think it had been a month, Cassandra pulled up to her new home. People called it The Murder House. She chuckled darkly at the moniker. Some people were scared of their own damn shadows. Cassandra shook her head and stepped out of the packed moving truck. It felt amazing to stretch her legs. She’d only made minimal, necessary stops along the way, and hardly ever for a walk. Her bones cracked as she stretched, and she loosened her scarf. It was much warmer here in California than it had been in her hometown in Massachusetts. She either have to adjust her wardrobe, or adapt. Maybe a little of both.

Cassandra let out a sigh and cast her glance back at the full U-Haul. It was times like this where she wished she had someone to come with her and help her with the heavy lifting. Luckily, at least, she hadn’t brought much of anything big. The house came fully furnished with the last owner's furniture, so there was no need for bulky couches and the like to take up any of the room she had. She only brought a couple sizable things, a bookcase, because she could never have too many of those, and an antique writing desk that her father had treasured. The rest of her furniture she had sold or donated to local resale shops. Best to make as clean a break as possible with her past, and well, Cassandra figured that furniture was a good enough place to start. Coming out here had been for healing and starting fresh as well as finding answers and tying up some loose ends.

Making her way around to the back of the truck, Cassandra pulled the door up and stared at the exhausting work before her. She counted the boxes. Twenty. She could have sworn she didn’t even have enough stuff to fill twenty boxes, so she recounted but came up with the same number. To be fair, several of them mostly contained books. Amongst those, a great deal of them were for work, but quite a few were for pleasure as well. She grabbed out one of the boxes, adjusting to the weight of it and took it past the gate and to the door, sitting it on the porch. She went back to get another. Once she had all the boxes stacked on the porch, she grabbed Simon from the front seat and held him as she sat herself on the porch step.

"Well Simon, we're home," she said, petting the cat's fluffy back and tail. Simon gave a small mewl of acknowledgement, though whether he seemed content or under protest about his new residence was unclear. Cassandra let the cat go and he sat at her side on the step. He wasn’t much of an outdoor cat and hardly ever wandered too far from Cassandra. Reluctantly, Cassandra got up from her seat and unlocked the front door with her new key. Pushing it open and letting Simon run inside, Cassandra turned around and grabbed a box before carrying it in with her. She had to adjust her eyes to the dark foyer before she was able to locate a light switch. Balancing the box on one hand, she flicked on the switch and looked about her new house. There was a fine layer of dust, but nothing she hadn’t expected. She looked at the label on the box in her hand, which read 'kitchen' in thick black marker, and walked it in to its proper location.

After the rest of the boxes finally made it into their proper rooms in the house, Cassandra collapsed into the nearest chair. A cloud of dust splayed out around her, causing her to cough briefly, followed by a delicate sneeze. "That was a poor choice," she commented to herself, coughing once more and swishing her hand in front of her face to ward off any more dust. "Guess that’s what I get for buying a house that’s been sitting untouched for a year, huh?" She asked the question to no one in particular. The cat had gone off exploring as soon as they had gotten inside, and she hadn’t seen him since. He may not have been a great conversationalist, but he was all she had.

"There could be far worse things than a little dust," came a voice from the foyer, sounding as if it were approaching her. Cassandra was startled from her chair. The last thing she had expected was a response.

"Hello," she hesitantly called. "Who’s there?"

"I’m your neighbor, Constance Langdon," the woman said, a sweet southern twang accenting her voice. She stopped just in the doorway of the sitting room.

"I’m Cassandra. Cassandra Reagan," she introduced, walking over to shake Constance's hand. Just then, Simon reappeared, rubbing himself against Constance's leg before coming to sit next to Cassandra.

"And who is this little fur ball," Constance asked.

"That’s Simon," Cassandra replied, slightly embarrassed at his sudden intrusion. He wasn’t usually so lovey towards strangers.

"He’s a beautiful cat," she commented.

"Thank you." Cassandra paused, trying to find a new subject. "I’d offer you something to eat or drink, but I haven’t even unpacked a thing yet," she said with a light laugh, hoping she sounded slightly less awkward than she felt.

"That’s perfectly alright, dear. I’ll leave you to it. Should you need anything, I’ll be right next door." Constance flicked a finger in the general direction of her house. Cassandra gave her a smile and walked her to the door, which she promptly locked after Constance had gone. Part of her wished she hadn’t made her leave. Now she was stuck with the monumental task of unpacking again. But, it had to be done sometime or another, she reminded herself.

She made her way to the kitchen and unpacked her various plates, bowls, cups and silverware, finding a place for each. Other kitchen supplies fell into the mix; pots, pans, Tupperware, a blender. What did she even need all this for? She hardly cooked. Even when she did, it was nothing grand. She sighed and continued on. In an hour, the kitchen was fully stocked. She wouldn’t sleep a wink all night if she kept going until she was finished. It was getting late as it was. She decided to unpack her books in the library at least. They should be sitting on a shelf where they belong, not cramped up in some box where their spines could be getting bent, or heaven forbid their pages get wet from some mysterious leak she wasn’t aware of.

It had taken her longer than she thought and ended up well past midnight before she was through. She had to have all of her research books categorized by subject and all of her books for enjoyment alphabetized by author's last name. She was organized to a fault and couldn’t just leave them all haphazard and mixed up. So, she took the extra time and effort to get them how she wanted them before going off to bed.

She slept so soundly that nothing, not even Simon hissing at the end of her bed, could wake her. She’d have more unpacking to do in the morning, and needed to rest up for it. She had much more grueling tasks in front of her than the unloading of boxes, and she was itching to get started.


	2. Moira, Vivien And Nora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On her first full day in The Murder House, Cassandra gets acquainted with some of its ghostly residents.

It was around ten the next morning when Cassandra woke. She sat up and yawned, stretching her arms in the air before swinging her feet around to the side of the bed. She rubbed her eyes as she padded across the bedroom floor. "I bet Simon's already downstairs for breakfast," she joked to herself as she reached the staircase. Taking her time, Cassandra descended the stairs until she heard something going on in the kitchen. Taking the last few stairs at a quicker pace, she made her way to the kitchen. She stopped short when she saw a red haired woman in a maid's uniform standing at the counter. How do these people keep getting into my house, she thought.

"Um, hello," Cassandra said, wishing she sounded more authoritative.

"Why hello, dear," the woman responded, turning around to face Cassandra. Cassandra just stood there, staring at her for a moment, not sure what she should do next. "I’m Moira. I’m the maid. I come with the house," she explained. Cassandra gave a nod, still quite confused.

"I just, uh, I don’t have any extra money to pay you," Cassandra explained.

"That’s quite alright. You see, I perused your books last night, and don’t worry, I only read the titles. I didn’t even pick one up, but I think you’ll be able to understand me when I say that I haven’t needed anyone's money for many years."

Cassandra furrowed her dark brows until the realization dawned on her. "So you’re...a ghost?" The statement should have felt more odd to her, but for some reason, she wasn’t exactly surprised. Had Constance been a ghost as well? No, she couldn’t have been. Simon had touched her.

Moira smiled warmly, and spoke again, drawing Cassandra's attention back to her. "Very good, dear. Yes. For many years now I’ve been bound to this house."

"And are there," Cassandra paused, searching for the right words, "more of you? More ghosts in the house, I mean?"

"Yes, but most tend to keep to themselves since the Harmons."

"The last owners?"

"Right. And you'll only see as much of me as you want to," Moira informed. Cassandra leaned back against a section of countertop and tried to take this all in. It wasn’t so bad. Sure, her realtor hadn’t informed her that there were actual ghosts in her house, but by the sound of it, it didn’t seem like it was going to be a problem. If Moira was right, they’d mostly keep to themselves. She’d adapted to worse. She’d had a nightmare of a roommate in college. So, how bad could a few ghosts be? Now at least, when she talked to herself, maybe someone would actually listen.

"Okay," Cassandra said, as if Moira had been waiting for her permission to stay. "I think I can live with a few ghosts." With that, Moira wandered off to a different part of the house and Cassandra went ahead and poured a bowl of food for Simon. The cat seemed to pop out of nowhere at the promising sound of breakfast and Cassandra reached down to pet him before beginning the rest of her unpacking.

Half a day went by before Cassandra was done. She’d only grabbed a banana for a midday snack and once she’d sat down after everything was taken care of, she realized how hungry she was. She got back up with a huff and headed for the kitchen. She was instantly deflated at the chore of cooking something for herself, so she picked up a phone and ordered a pizza. No sooner did she hang up the phone that she began to hear music. She was sure she hadn’t turned anything on, even by accident. She wandered the house and followed the music toward the living room. There, by the windows, was a woman playing the cello. Another ghost then, Cassandra thought. Odd how calm she was about the whole thing. You’d think it was normal for her to be living with ghosts. In a way, she supposed she was. Metaphorical ones, perhaps, but that didn’t make them feel any less real to her.

Cassandra listened as the woman finished her tune and put down the bow of the instrument. "That was beautiful," Cassandra commented, and even though she wasn’t always a classical music fan, she truly meant the compliment.

Not startled in the slightest, the woman got up and faced Cassandra. "Thank you," she said. "I’ve always loved to play. I hoped you wouldn’t mind."

"I don’t," she replied. "I’m Cassandra, by the way."

"So Moira said. I’m Vivien Harmon."

"Oh," Cassandra said, the word slipping out, though she hadn’t meant it to. She put her hand to her mouth, but it was too late to take back the utterance. "You’re the house’s last owner."

"I was. Please, don’t be scared. Ours were special circumstances. It’s all in the past now."

"I know," Cassandra said, casting her eyes away from Vivien's gaze. "You're welcome to play anytime, Vivien. I really don’t mind." That was the last thing Cassandra said before the doorbell rang, signaling that her pizza had arrived. She left Vivien and the woman began to play another song. She paid for her pizza and a modest tip to the delivery boy who scampered away in a hurry. She guessed this house really did have a reputation. She shrugged and took her pizza into the library with her. She wasn’t going to work, especially not with pizza grease on her hands, but the books were a comfort and after meeting Vivien, someone who had only recently died here, she was a bit unnerved.

Cassandra ate more pizza than she had since college and put the leftovers in the fridge for tomorrow. Vivien was no longer playing, nor anywhere to be seen. Same went for Moira, and Simon for that matter. Perhaps the lazy cat had already gone to bed. Cassandra climbed up the stairs and found Simon in the hallway just outside her bedroom door. The hair on his back stood up and he hissed quietly. "What is it," Cassandra asked, passing the cat and peeking into her room.

A blonde woman stood at the end of her bed, looking towards the headboard. Maybe she ought to have asked Moira just how many ghosts roamed this house. "Excuse me," Cassandra said, unsure why she was concerned about scaring a ghost. The woman jumped and turned around at the sound of her voice, though she had kept her tone soft. "I’m Cassandra, the new owner. And who are you?"

"Nora. My husband built this house for me," she said, tearing up at the memory. Cassandra had done her research. This woman was Nora Montgomery. One of the first to die in this house in a murder suicide. She seemed different than the others, more forlorn, melancholy, but Cassandra couldn’t help but be somehow drawn to her, perhaps out of sympathy for her story.

"If you’d like to talk about him, you could stay," Cassandra offered, though perhaps that was the wrong move to make. Nora looked at her in such a way that she seemed even more frightened than before.

"No, I really should be going," Nora said. "I have my baby." And before Cassandra could say anything else, she’d gone. Cassandra shook her head, in attempt to shake off the whole living with ghosts thing and picked up Simon, carrying him to bed. With Nora gone, he seemed to calm down and promptly curled up at Cassandra's feet. It had been a wild day, no doubt, but tomorrow it would be back to work as usual, and Cassandra would need to rest up for it.


	3. It Begins Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra delves into her research, finds a promising new lead, and has dinner with Constance, which is definitely not a date.

Her routine was much the same the following morning. She got up, this time with her alarm set for eight, got dressed, since she had hung up all her clothes in her closet the day before and went downstairs to feed the cat. She ate breakfast as well today. She had many hours of research ahead of her and she became so easily focused that she often forgot to eat altogether some days. Unhealthy? Perhaps, but somehow she'd managed this long.

After breakfast it was straight to the library for her. She browsed her books, fingers lightly trailing over the bindings as she skimmed the titles. She paused at a personal favorite of hers. _An In Depth Study Of Supernatural Occurrences_ by Phineas Black. He’d been her old college professor, mentor, and friend. She’d spent a year working alongside him after she’d graduated and he taught her most of what she knew about the supernatural in that time. She often opened his book to read his note to her, though she no longer needed to crack it open to know what it said.

_Cassandra, may this book help in your search and one day provide you with the answer you so long for. It’s out there and eventually you’ll find the right place to look. Your mentor and friend, Phineas Black_

After recalling the touching inscription, she let her hand travel on, until she finally pulled a book on demons and documented cases of real possessions. By the time she closed the book, she felt like she was on a first name basis with many of the demons written about inside. A rather unpleasant feeling, one would think, but it for as long as she’d devoted herself to this field of study, it no longer got under her skin. She could name a vast number of creatures from folklore that most people had never heard of, and rattle off the names of demons by the dozens. She could even recite the most famous cases of real and alleged possession. But none of it mattered. None of it answered the only question she cared about. What had killed her family six years ago?

Cassandra already felt herself becoming discouraged. She knew a move wasn’t going to automatically solve her problems and give her answers, but some naive part of her expected more. She expected a breakthrough, a miracle even, but she knew that was silly. Life didn’t work like that. And the only way to find the truth was to dig until no more digging could be done.

Putting the book back on the shelf, Cassandra soon selected another. Continuing on the topic of demons, which had always seemed like the most promising area for answers, she opened the front cover. She had picked this particular volume up at an antique store. It had been covered in dust and the words on the spine were hardly legible, but to her it looked promising. This was the first time she’d ever sat down to read it. There was a name scrawled in faded ink that looked newer than the book, despite the faded quality. Cassandra pulled her reading glasses out of her desk drawer and squinted through them to read the signature. Benjamin Norrange.

She moved the book off to the side and switched over to her laptop. She typed the name into google and scanned the results. It appeared Mr. Norrange was a known demonologist who’d participated in exorcisms firsthand and had a wide knowledge of all things demonic. It might not hurt to hear what he had to say on the subject. She made her way over to his webpage and looked over his calendar. He’d be close by in just a little over two weeks from now. He’d be speaking at a local convention and Cassandra couldn’t believe her luck. It was possible that this could just be a coincidental dead end, but it could also be fate finally giving her a break. Either way, it looked like she was going to a convention.

Cassandra shut her book, sending a bit of dust flying that she skillfully avoided most of. Slipping the volume back on the shelf, she decided to quit her research for the day. She was feeling too amped up to concentrate. A potential lead was something she hadn’t had in months. It felt good just to have something to hope for again.

Spending the rest of her evening dusting and humming a tune, even at the end of the night she still felt energized. A bit bored with nothing left to do, she sat on her bed and spoke to Simon. "I should have Constance over," she said. "The house is all dusted, and everything is unpacked. She seemed rather nice. What do you say, Simon?" The cat looked up at Cassandra without much enthusiasm. He didn’t seem to mind the idea, so Cassandra was going to go through with it. "Do you think dinner would be too formal," she asked as a follow up, to which she again received a noncommittal response. Cassandra smiled to herself. "Dinner it is then."

The next morning, Cassandra called up Constance who accepted her dinner invitation. They agreed on the night before Cassandra's big convention. At least she was going to have plenty of time to figure out what to cook. Time seemed to fly by for Cassandra after that, as if after her phone call, she’d hit a fast forward button instead of end call. She felt like she was finally headed somewhere. Where exactly, was yet uncertain, but she wasn’t just stuck in the same old rut. A promising new lead, and an exciting new neighbor was enough to keep her going for the next couple of weeks. She read through a few of her books, making notes in a journal as she read, memorizing more facts as she went. She wanted to make a good impression on Mr. Norrange. He had to take her seriously, after all.

Finally the night arrived. Cassandra had put all her books away by noon, took a shower to ensure her hair would be dry by dinner and got to cooking. She didn’t go with anything too challenging. A simple meal of chicken and rice worked nicely for her. It was classy, relatively healthy and also fairly easy to cook. She read up on what wine to pair with it and picked up a bottle at store not too far from home. She had never been quite so excited for a simple dinner. She went to her bedroom to make sure her hair was still okay and realized she’d almost completely forgotten to get dressed. She’d only put on an old sweater and some faded out jeans while she was busy preparing dinner. Now she needed to change before Constance arrived.

Simon meowed from her bed as she rifled through her closet in a hurry. "My gosh, you’re right, Simon. This isn’t a date. I shouldn’t be stressing so much about what to wear. But I have to find something better than these old things." Cassandra went back to skimming through the clothes in front of her. She decided on a long sleeved, wine red shirt and a nice black skirt that went just a little past her knee. Not trying too hard, she thought. "I just want to look presentable," she told the cat, but Simon had lost interest. With a dismissive wave towards Simon, Cassandra smoothed down her skirt and went downstairs, and not a moment too soon.

By the time she had descended into the foyer, her doorbell rang. Putting on an effortless smile, Cassandra answered the door. "Come in," she greeted. "Dinner is just about ready." Constance grinned and stepped into the house. Moira had offered to keep an eye on the food to make sure nothing burned, but when Cassandra walked into the kitchen she was nowhere in sight. She shrugged and checked on the meal. Everything seemed just fine. She dished the food and tentatively carried both plates in at once, a risky move for her, but one she thankfully pulled off. She dashed back into the kitchen and grabbed the wine and their glasses. With everything she did, she couldn’t help but think in the back of her mind that this all felt like a date. She was beginning to wonder what Constance thought of the whole thing, but she was not about to ask her.

They sat across from one another at one end of the long dining table. The rest of the grand room was rather empty save for the two of them occupying such a small part of it. "You make for quite the decent cook," Constance said. "I’m more of a baker myself. I should have brought us dessert."

"Oh, no, I’m glad you didn’t go to the trouble. This is the first decent meal I’ve had since I moved in and I’m not sure I’ll be able to make room for dessert after this."

The conversation picked up and dropped off sporadically, the interim filled with the chicken and rice. It was actually quite good. Cassandra had surprised herself. Once they had finished their meal, Cassandra rose from her seat to begin the cleanup. She ran some water over the dishes, then leaving them to soak for a while, and she’d finish the job once Constance had gone. As soon as she stopped running the water, she heard the faint sound of music. Specifically, a cello. Vivien. She had completely forgotten to ask her not to play tonight.

"Is that music I hear," Constance asked as Cassandra met her in the hall. Apparently she was too late to stop it. Cassandra floundered for an explanation, but no words came out. "Shall we dance then," Constance supplied when Cassandra's own words had failed her.

"H-here," she asked. Surely the hall was big enough. Hell, the bathrooms in this house were big enough to dance in, but this situation in general had really caught her off guard. This was not supposed to be a date.

Constance held out her hand for Cassandra to take. "I’ll lead if you like," she said, and Cassandra couldn’t quite figure out if she was teasing or not. So, making a bold decision, Cassandra took Constance’s hand and they danced. The music only lasted through one song, but that particular song seemed to Cassandra to drag on for ages. Not that she minded dancing with Constance, it was fun actually. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced. Constance didn’t seem to question the music, or why it had spontaneously ceased.

"I better get on home," Constance said, letting go of her hold on Cassandra. "It’s already later than I had anticipated." As she spoke the two women began their walk to the door. Stopping just before the exit, Constance added, "Thank you for a marvelous evening." Placing a quick kiss on Cassandra's cheek, Constance then showed herself out. When the door closed, Cassandra raised her hand to her cheek, feeling where Constance’s lips had been. This evening certainly didn’t go as she thought, but perhaps it had actually taken a pleasant turn.

Wandering back to the kitchen to resume her cleanup, Cassandra couldn’t seem to get her mind off of Constance. She had never intended their dinner to be a date, she wasn’t sure she had seen Constance that way at all until tonight. They’d only met once, and even that had been only briefly. But there was something about tonight, maybe the wine, that had put her in a different light. Cassandra dried and put away the dishes on autopilot as she considered it. It had been a while since she’d even had a casual girlfriend. Maybe this could turn into something. She smiled to herself as she walked upstairs to bed. She’d give it some thought, but for now she needed some rest. She was going to have a big day tomorrow.


	4. Benjamin Norrange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra takes a meeting with famed demonologist Benjamin Norrange and comes home with mixed feelings.

Cassandra was up and dressed before her alarm clock buzzed. When it finally did go off she hit the button to turn it off and gave Simon a pat on the head before bounding down the stairs. She had chosen one of her more professional looks today. A dark grape cardigan with a black, silky tank and light gray pants. She put her reading glasses in her shirt pocket in case she needed them. Grabbing an energy bar for breakfast and pouring herself a cup of coffee in a to go mug, she quickly dished out Simon's breakfast, grabbed all of her necessary things and headed out the door.

The drive, though short, was fraught with anticipation for what was to come. Cassandra checked over her research several times and made sure she had everything ordered just how she wanted it before she even got out of the car. She felt somewhat out of place as she headed into the building. Most conventions like these were full of conspiracy junkies and cult leader wannabes. She didn’t mix well with crowds in general, but those types always found some way to ruffle her more than most. Keeping her arms tight at her sides, her head down, and her eyes scanning the room for Mr. Norrange she made her way around, largely unnoticed.

Finally, she spotted him. Making a beeline for his booth, she managed to avoid bumping into any of the small groups gathered around several tables. Adjusting her posture to that of a more professional nature, she walked the last few feet confidently. "Mr. Norrange," she questioned, even though she was sure it was him.

"Yes. How may I help you," came his reply. His voice was deeper than she expected.

"I was wondering if you’d take a look at a case of mine," she implored. She took the folder out from under her arm and released her white knuckled grip on it as she handed it over to him. He accepted the folder, opening it and spanning the contents out nicely over his table. Cassandra winced, as she still did every time she saw the photos of her family lying dead in her childhood home. Her mother and father lay in their bed, pooled in their own blood, wounds still dripping when the photographer had taken the photos of the scene. And her sister, her poor, innocent sister. She’d just turned seventeen a couple of days before and she was even worse off than her parents. She looked like a cadaver in a medical school. Her skin and muscles had been peeled back, some of her organs pulled out and laid around her. It used to make Cassandra vomit, and the sight still made her sick, but she’d become desensitized to it somewhat over the years, which was a thought that sent a chill through her.

Benjamin took his time examining the photos, police report and Cassandra's accompanying research. "You really know your demons, Miss..."

"Reagan," Cassandra supplied. She received a small grunt of recognition and a curt nod in response.

"Well this is nothing like I’ve seen before," Benjamin finally stated after a considerable amount of silence. "I don’t think you’re looking at demons here, Miss Reagan. I’m very impressed by your research though. Phineas Black certainly taught you well." Benjamin spoke as he tidied up Cassandra's files and slipped them all back into the folder.

"How do you know about my relationship to Phineas Black," Cassandra asked, taken aback.

The man turned around to face her before carrying on their conversation. "We're old colleagues. Had a falling out a few years ago, I’m afraid, but he and I go way back. I was glad to hear from him again when he told me about you. Said I might be expecting you here today."

"Oh," Cassandra said, still a bit surprised. She hadn’t thought Professor Black would reach out on her behalf, but they did still keep in contact regularly, so she guessed it shouldn’t really come as a surprise that he’d tell a colleague about her. She had told him about the move before she’d left Massachusetts. Cassandra pulled herself away from the thoughts. She was here to talk to Mr. Norrange after all. "So, you don’t think it was demons," she asked.

"None that I’ve seen or read about," he replied flatly. "Demons can leave a mess when they kill, but this is far worse than any demon I’ve ever been led to believe through experience and research alike. I’d set your sights somewhere else. Hell hounds perhaps would be a good place to start." Cassandra looked rather defeated at the news. "And the police," Benjamin added, "they had no suspects, no leads at all?" He’d read the file, but he wanted to double check.

"No. Nothing. No prints, no hairs, no fibers. The crime scene was completely clean."

"Troubling," Benjamin muttered. "I honestly don’t believe you’re looking for a demon, Miss Reagan. Those hell hounds I mentioned, a poltergeist perhaps, or some other vile monster, but not a demon."

Cassandra took the news to heart. She was a little let down. She had been so sure it was some form of demonic activity, but she trusted Mr. Norrange's expertise. She’d look elsewhere. She had plenty of volumes on ghosts and poltergeists. Maybe she’d pick up there tomorrow. Today, she was too disheartened. She thought she was finally closing in, but now there were only more questions. If not demons, then what?

"Thank you, Mr. Norrange. You may not have provided the answer I hoped for, but you’ve given me invaluable information. I appreciate it."

"You’re welcome," he replied. Cassandra accepted her folder back from him and turned to leave. "And Miss Reagan, I’m sorry, about your family. I can’t even fathom how great a loss it must have been. I hope you find your answer."

Cassandra looked back and nodded then disappeared into the throng of convention goers. She was able to breathe easier when she was out of the building. She had a lot to process and the drive back seemed longer somehow. She was drained, emotionally, mentally, and physically. Benjamin Norrange had given her a way forward, but also had taken her several steps backward. She didn’t know what to think anymore.

Finally, she was safely back at home. She slammed her car door and trudged up the walkway and to the door. Stuck to the door was a note. It was from Constance. "I made brownies, come over when you can," it read. She was far too tired now and didn’t want to come off as rude. Perhaps she’d go over tomorrow after a good night sleep and a hot cup of coffee. She unlocked the door and removed the note, carrying it inside with her and setting it on the kitchen counter. She grabbed herself a glass of water, downed it and planned on calling it an early night. It was hardly even dinner time, but she didn’t think she could handle anything else today. Her mind was already spinning. She got Simon's bag of food out, and contemplated what Mr. Norrange had said earlier about Phineas Black. How had Phineas guessed she’d be going to the convention? Did he just know her that well after all these years? That had to be it. Cassandra went back to pouring Simon's bowl full before heading up to bed.

Then, as if on cue, she heard the cat crying from somewhere in the house. "Simon," Cassandra asked, suddenly worried. He hardly ever made a peep unless she was talking to him, or if he was hungry, but this just sounded different. "Simon," Cassandra called again. The cat continued to yowl and she finally found him pawing at the basement door. "What is it, Simon," she asked, but of course he didn’t explain. Cassandra let out an exhausted sigh and opened the basement door. With her luck, it was probably just a mouse. Seeing nothing at first glance, she turned on the light and descended the stairs. Simon made no move to follow. She rolled her eyes at the big scaredy cat at the top of the stairs and continued on her investigation. Might as well as long as she was down here.

Even with the light it was fairly dim. The basement was nothing special really, just like any other she’d ever been in. There were a few things lying around, probably left behind by past owners that no one had bothered to clear out. There were some empty shelves, a few chairs and a long handled axe propped up against one wall. And then, Cassandra heard crying. Following the sound, she eventually came across Nora. "Nora, why are you crying?"

"It’s Charles," she wailed. "He doesn’t care about me or Thaddeus, only his stupid monstrous experiments." Cassandra blinked hard trying to recall what Nora was talking about. Bits and pieces came back to her. Something about merging animals, some sick project of his that eventually led to their murder suicide back in the twenties. It’s a shame she was still so miserable over it all. Cassandra couldn’t imagine spending the afterlife in such a vicious cycle. "Come upstairs with me. Spend the evening in one of the bedrooms up there. Leave him be, forget about him," Cassandra suggested.

"I couldn’t, could I," Nora asked, sniveling.

"Of course you could. You’d never have to come back down here again if you didn’t want to."

Nora cracked the smallest of smiles. "You’re ever so kind," she said. "May I bring Thaddeus? He’s a very quiet baby, I’m sure he won’t wake you."

Cassandra nodded. "Yes, bring him. Forget all the sorrow Charles has caused and begin anew," Cassandra told her. She really must be tired, she was starting to talk like her. Surprising Cassandra, Nora wrapped the woman in a brief, yet intense hug. Nora then followed Cassandra up the stairs all the way until they reached the second floor. Cassandra led her to one of the spacious extra bedrooms, the one furthest from her own, just in case. Nora thanked her once more and seemed rather content with the new arrangement. She hoped it was able to keep her happy.

With a smile, Cassandra turned to leave. The smile, while genuine, quickly turned into a yawn as she headed for her own room. She’d already done more than she planned to, and bed was calling to her. She had remembered to pour Simon's food, hadn’t she? If she hadn’t, he’d just have to wait until morning.


	5. Time For Herself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a troubling night, Cassandra takes a well earned day off to rest, recuperate and plot her next move. A trip to Constance’s is in order.

Cassandra's night had been terrible. While Nora kept her promise about Thaddeus not waking her, if she was even still in the other room, she wouldn’t have slept a wink anyhow. Not after the nightmare. It felt so real, just like it was happening all over again.

_Her phone rang. She picked it up to see the time on the clock was 4:44. No one should have been calling her at this hour, but she answered anyway. "Miss Reagan," the officer asked over the phone._

_"Speaking," Cassandra replied, wiping the sleep away from her eyes. "What’s going on," she asked._

_"I’d really like to speak to you in person," the officer said._

_"Why, what’s wrong? Did something happen?" Cassandra was wide awake now, her anxiety flaring and giving her a rush of adrenaline._

_"There’s been an incident, Miss Reagan. Again, I really feel like you should come in so I could speak to you in person."_

_"Just tell me," Cassandra demanded, raising her voice. It was if her body knew what was coming._

_"Your family has just been found dead in their home. I’m terribly sorry."_

_Cassandra dropped her phone in shock at the news. She froze, hardly even blinking as she half listened to the officer's voice still coming from the dropped phone. She couldn’t go to the scene, but she felt compelled to anyhow. They’d probably already considered her as a suspect. She’d have to come in to the station to get the rest of the information. She later learned that the officer who’d called her had been a rookie, and that he’d been reprimanded for calling her at all. He’d found her number on the fridge. It was her new one that she had just given her mother the previous week._

_She came into the station to be questioned, and that was the moment she’d first seen the crime scene photos. At seeing them, she screamed and cried until she made herself sick. It wasn’t real to her until then. It was no more than a plot to one of the horror movies she’d loved so much. It was worse than any horror movie, seeing her family like that. More blood and body parts than they were human anymore. The murders were visceral, inhuman, and Cassandra immediately suspected something supernatural was to blame._

She woke up feeling nauseous and was restless for most of the night after that. She maybe managed to get in about four hours, mostly before the dream, but that was nowhere near enough. At least she didn’t look as tired as she felt. She splashed some water on her face in the bathroom and took another look in the mirror. Time to start a new day whether she liked it or not.

She was going to take a day off from everything. She had an article to turn in the following day, but she’d gotten most of it done already, the rest could wait until she was able to stay awake enough to finish and proofread. Today was going to be about resting and refueling and figuring out where to direct her search next. She wandered downstairs and out to the kitchen where she caught sight of Constance’s note from yesterday. Bleary eyed, she picked it up and read it over again. Brownies sounded like the perfect way to start her morning and put her nightmare behind her. She didn’t put in a lot of effort to get dressed. She had put on a slightly oversized grey cardigan, a white tank top and black leggings before she came downstairs. No reason that wasn’t good enough.

Cassandra headed outside and made her way to Constance’s house next door. She breathed in deeply, hoping her lack of rest wouldn’t show on her face, then she knocked. She waited only half a minute before Constance came to the door. She still had her hair down and was dressed in a gorgeous silk robe. What time was it, Cassandra wondered. Had she come too early? "Cassandra, come on in. I hadn’t expected you so early." The two of them walked into Constance’s kitchen and Constance gestured for Cassandra to take a seat.

As Cassandra pulled herself out a chair she began to feel guilty. Perhaps she should have called first, or at the very least she should have checked the clock. And what was she doing here anyway, after the night she had. She shouldn’t be using Constance as an escape from her problems. "I’m sorry, I know it’s early, I just felt that I could use a little sugar this morning." Cassandra's cheeks flushed a light shade of pink when her choice of words sunk in. "I mean, chocolate. I had a rough night last night."

Constance brought out a plate of brownies and sat the dish in front of Cassandra. Taking a chair for herself, she turned it to face Cassandra's and placed her hand over hers. "That house has been known to keep people up. You haven’t let it get to you, have you?"

"No, it’s not the house. At least I don’t think it is. The house is quite lovely, actually. It’s just this thing I’m trying to take care of," Cassandra explained vaguely, not sure about how much she should inform Constance of at this point. "I’ve been working on it for years, and I just keep getting stuck," Cassandra continued to vent. It felt somewhat good to even get a little of it off her chest, even at the expense of keeping Constance in the dark.

"Tell me," Constance nudged, wanting Cassandra to feel that she could trust her.

Cassandra sighed heavily, considering her options. Constance knew about the house's history, was acquainted enough with the supernatural not to consider her insane, and she seemed genuinely concerned for her. So Cassandra began her story. "Six years ago my family was killed. There was no trace of human evidence found, not even the slightest hint of someone being there. It was horrific. The police declared it a cold case almost on sight. I have been looking for some explanation as to what could have killed them ever since. It may sound crazy, but I don’t think it’s human. All signs point to something supernatural. But, I have to know regardless. I have to be able to let them know that I found the answer so they can rest."

Constance laid a hand on hers and it felt so reassuring, so comforting. She hadn’t told anyone this before, aside from her old mentor and of course Simon. It felt like the weight of the past six years had been lifted off her shoulders, not removed, but it had undeniably lightened her load. Sure, Constance may want to send her to an asylum now, but it felt good to say it out loud to someone other than her cat.

"I can’t imagine how awful that must have been," Constance soothed. Cassandra had received many such sympathies and she thought they’d lost their effect over the years, but something about Constance was so genuine that she didn’t feel like her words were empty ones.

"Thank you," Cassandra said, filling in the appropriate response as if it were second nature, though she actually meant it this time.

"So how did your meeting go yesterday," Constance asked. Cassandra had almost forgotten she’d even told her about it at dinner two nights ago.

"It answered one question but brought up a hundred more. That was one of the reasons why I didn’t sleep last night," Cassandra told her.

"Well you’re welcome to stay here today for as long as you like. Get away from the house, those books, all your worries."

"Really?"

"Of course, dear. It’s the least I could do."

Cassandra summoned up a weary smile in thanks. Maybe she could do with a day away. At least a couple of brownies and a nap. Go back later, refreshed, finish that article she had due and figure out her next move. That sounded nice. As for Simon, Moira could take care of him. She’d done a good job picking up her slack as it was.

Cassandra helped herself to a couple of the richest brownies she’d ever tasted, praised Constance endlessly for her baking skills and then asked if it would be alright if she took a nap. Constance happily obliged, showing Cassandra to her guest room. "Take as long as you need. I’ll be around the house all day."

Cassandra thanked Constance for what felt like the hundredth time that morning and her overtired mind finally allowed her to easily drift off to sleep. It was nearly two in the afternoon before she woke up. Cassandra walked out of the guest bedroom feeling a lot more rested than she had when she got there. Constance was puttering about in the kitchen, now dressed with her hair up the way Cassandra usually seen it. It looked good both ways, Cassandra thought.

"Oh, you’re up. I was hoping you’d be up in time for a late lunch. I put it off as long as I could."

"You didn’t have to do that," Cassandra said.

"After the dinner you gave me the other night, I had to repay the favor." Cassandra could hardly argue with that, and whatever it was smelled good, so she sat down for lunch. The two women got on as they always did, pleasantly conversing with an air of flirtation in the mix. Cassandra was starting to see herself really falling for Constance. A relationship, however, was not something she thought she could balance with all of her other pressing work. She didn’t even know if she could consider this a relationship yet.

After lunch, Cassandra felt ready to head back home. "This has been exactly what I needed," Cassandra told Constance. "I really can’t express how grateful I am to you for letting me stay here and clear my head. I mean it."

"You’re welcome anytime," Constance said with a smile, and it didn’t sound like just a simple pleasantry. Cassandra thought that Constance may have actually meant it. Cassandra smiled back and picked up her plate of brownies. Constance gently, yet intentionally grabbed her wrist and stopped her exit. "I mean it," she insisted. "Anytime." Then Constance leaned forward and gently kissed Cassandra on the cheek. So maybe it was a relationship after all, she thought to herself as she closed her eyes, letting herself just be in the moment. The heat only crept to her cheeks when Constance pulled away. With a shy smile, Cassandra bid her goodnight, and began the short walk home.

"Oh, Simon, I’m home," Cassandra singsonged as she stepped into the foyer. Taking the brownies to the kitchen, she looked around for the cat, who appeared out of nowhere when she stepped into the kitchen. "There you are," she said, bending down to pet the animal. She sat the covered plate on the island, poured Simon an early evening meal and took off for her library. It took her only half an hour to polish up her article and submit it. That was one thing off her to do list. Now, where to go from here, she wondered.

Stepping over to the shelves upon shelves of books, Cassandra disregarded the tomes on demons, having pretty much ruled them out thanks to Mr. Norrange. Nothing seemed to call to her save for Phineas Black's book. She pulled it from the shelf and sat it at her desk. She cracked it open, intent to begin some more reading, but she couldn’t concentrate. Maybe she’d save if for tomorrow and look at it with fresh eyes. Today hadn’t been for work, not really. She should keep it that way for the rest of the evening.

"Come on, Simon, we're going to watch a movie," Cassandra declared. She rose from her desk and advanced towards the living room with a purpose, the cat, who'd joined her after his meal, now trailed behind her. Picking a classic B-movie from her small collection, she popped the horror flick into the DVD player and hit play. And that’s where she spent the rest of her evening and night, with the occasional break to pick up a snack, until she and Simon eventually fell asleep together on the couch.


	6. What A Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra has a bit of a revelation. She also addresses her relationship with Constance.

Cassandra had woken up in the middle of the night as the end credits to her last movie rolled. She’d missed the ending, but she’d seen it before, so she wasn’t too disappointed. She’d just shut of the tv and took herself up to bed. On her way up the stairs, she recalled something she did with her old mentor Phineas Black several days before her family's murder. They’d performed a ritual, one to summon a hellhound. Phineas had assured her it was safe, and should they succeed the beast would be well contained. She thought it had been a failure at the time, since there wasn’t even a sign of success. Maybe she’d been wrong. Though, didn’t Benjamin Norrange point her in the direction of hellhounds? And hadn’t Phineas alerted the man of her possible appearance at the convention? Were the two connected? Her mind now buzzed with questions and possibilities.

Frantically padding back down the stairs in her bare feet, Cassandra tapped into her burst of energy and smiled as she passed by Moira and headed to the kitchen for a quick yet decent enough breakfast. Having not eaten much but junk food yesterday, save for the nice lunch Constance had fixed her, she figured she should probably go for a healthier option this morning. A simple bowl of unsweetened cereal, though quite bland, did the trick, and Cassandra cleaned up before heading to the library.

Phineas' book still sat on the desk, as if begging her to open it. She could hardly believe she’d never read it through even once. She’d only ever used it for reference, when she absolutely had to. She supposed she was saving it, wanting to fully engage herself with it's words and knowledge. It was about time she fully read it. Cassandra opened the book, same as she had last night, and stopped at the inscription that she was so fond of. Perhaps the answer really would be in here, she thought to herself hopefully. And so, with that in the back of her mind, she began to read.

Beginning the journey into a new direction of her quest for answers, she came across a page she must have never opened to before. There was a yellowed, old bookmark resting in between the pages. Certainly she would have seen it if she had opened to this page before now. Now she was wondering why it was there. She noted the page she’d found it on. Page 66. She removed the bookmark and examined it. Was it here for a reason? Had Phineas used it and just forgotten to take it out? She flipped the thin paper over in her hand and written on the back was a ten digit number. A phone number perhaps? She rewrote out the numbers with the appropriate dashes. If it was a phone number, it was a local one. The area code was one she'd seen listed around here. She decided to give it a call.

Cassandra held her breath as she dialed and waited in apprehension in case someone were to pick up. It turned out that the number had been disconnected. Cassandra exhaled fully in what was a mix of relief and disappointment. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be a phone number after all. Cassandra sighed and set the bookmark off to the side for later analysis. It may mean nothing at all, just a simple oversight on her professor's part. Either way, she preferred to get back to her reading.

It took her an entire week to read the rather lengthy occult tome cover to cover, and take her meticulous notes along the way. Phineas had always told her she was an obsessive note taker. He even joked that her notes were longer than whatever book she had been taking them on. Cassandra smiled to herself as she shut the book and recalled the fond memory.

She’d kept a decent work schedule now. While most of her time lately had been reading that book, she also set time aside to eat, take mental breaks, draft out a few more upcoming articles and even visit Constance one afternoon.

This time she called before she just dropped by. Constance was more than happy to share her afternoon with her, so Cassandra kissed Simon on the head before leaving for the house next door, and the cat purred his goodbye to her. Not that Cassandra felt that she needed his approval, but she was glad to have Simon's support in her relationship with Constance.

While Cassandra was excited to see Constance, she still wasn’t entirely sure where she stood with her. Constance was kind and affectionate with her, but was that all southern charm, or something beyond that? Cassandra was hoping for the latter. The last thing she needed was the added stress of worrying about her official relationship status. She’d have to swallow her pride, admit that she was terrible at reading signs and ask Constance outright about where this was going.

"Good afternoon, Cassie," Constance greeted warmly. It had been quite some time since anyone had called her that. It brought back mixed feelings. Only two people in her life had ever gotten away with calling her Cassie. Her sister, Emily, and Phineas. Though the memory of her younger sister still carried that dull sort of ache for her, Cassandra could actually see herself enjoying hearing the nickname again.

After a moment of inner reflection, Cassandra gave Constance a smile and walked in the door. "There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you," Cassandra said, needing to get right to it for the sake of her sanity, otherwise it would just eat away at her the whole time she was there.

"Sounds serious," Constance remarked. "Go on."

"Are we...a thing? Dating, I mean. In a relationship?" She inwardly cringed at her awkwardness in broaching the subject, but Constance seemed unfazed by her stammering.

"I suppose we are," Constance replied after a moment of contemplation. "I never really pictured it myself, being with a woman. I’ve been with someone younger in the past, but that other part is new for me. And people used to call me homophobic," she punctuated with a laugh. "I guess people really do change over time. I must say I feel somehow drawn to you. Since the day you moved in, in fact. I can’t really compare you to Travis, of course. You’re so vastly different from him, but I can see you being in my life in the way that he was once."

Cassandra listened politely as Constance verbally came to terms with her own feelings, knowing that it had been fairy similar for her when she first realized she was attracted to women. "We can take it slow if you want," Cassandra chimed in at last.

"Slow is not really my style," Constance said with a smirk. "I take things as they come naturally. I don’t like to question. I simply do whatever feels right."

Cassandra nodded. She could respect that. She breathed a sigh of relief now that she’d gotten the issue addressed. She was able to be herself around Constance again and the two of them spent nearly the rest of the day together before Cassandra noticed that it had gotten to be so late in the evening.

Constance had treated her to dinner before she left, which was far better than her simple meal had been when she’d invited Constance over. She offered to help clean up, but Constance wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, Constance walked Cassandra to the door to say goodnight.

What Constance had said about doing what felt right, that had been no lie. Cassandra was expecting nothing but a quick goodnight, followed by that beautiful smile and a wave as Cassandra looked over her shoulder on her short walk back home. What actually happened was quite different. There in the open doorway, with the comfortable warmth of the California night sneaking its way inside, Constance leaned in and kissed her. Cassandra felt her back touch the doorframe and Constance's body press up against hers. She blushed as a wave of heat rippled through her.

"Say hello to that fur ball of yours for me," Constance said when she pulled out of the kiss. "Simon, wasn’t it," she asked. Cassandra gave a quick nod, the burning in her cheeks clearly reflected pink in the light of the doorway. What a night, she thought as she stepped outside. What a night.


	7. Four Little Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra goes a little mad and relapses into some old bad habits, until finally she gets her answer. But will that make things better or worse?

After her final day with her nose buried in the same old book, Cassandra felt strange. She’d gained a lot of insight and knowledge into subjects she’d never broached before, but nothing seemed concrete enough to be the answer to her one and only burning question. Things were finally settling down though, it seemed. She still held the fond memory of her last evening with Constance, though it was hard to believe it had already been a week ago. It felt good to be enjoying her life again. She used to be all monotonous research, no play. She had answers to find of course, but she wasn’t doing herself or her family any favors by becoming a recluse. She’d find what she was looking for one day. She wouldn’t rest until she did, but there could be time for other things. Her time in California had taught her that much.

Cassandra looked at the time, expecting it to be around dinner as her stomach grumbled the moment she looked at the clock. Nine at night. It was later than she thought. Just enough time for a quick snack to satiate her and then off to bed. She’d be sure to eat a big breakfast the following morning. Now, despite being a bit hungry and seriously tired, Cassandra was feeling good, normal even, for a girl who lived in a house full of ghosts and talked to her cat.

It was business as usual the following week, which was almost a refreshing change of pace. Several of her article deadlines were met far before they needed to be. Cassandra was feeling efficient and accomplished. She planned a date with Constance for the weekend. They were actually going out this time. A nice restaurant fairly close to a park, where they could walk and talk afterwards. Everything was falling into place.

Cassandra was almost concerned when another week went by just as smoothly. Something bad had to be coming, or maybe her luck had simply, finally, turned around. She didn’t dwell on it too much, since there was no use complaining about things going right. She was just going to ride this wave of good fortune until it crashed at the shore. Which it did on Friday morning.

Friday morning was going as effortlessly as usual until Cassandra finished breakfast. She headed into the library and found Simon batting something around on the floor. Chastising him, she shooed him off and took a look at what it was that he’d been playing with. The bookmark. He’d ripped it. Luckily it was only a piece that had been torn off, but it still didn’t make her happy. Now she had two pieces of a mysterious paper. The larger part had the numbers 79138295 and the smaller part contained the first two digits. 66. Sixty six, she thought, dragging the words out in her mind. Why did that seem so familiar to her? Cassandra looked into her journal of notes and found where she made a note off to the side about the bookmark. She’d found it on page 66. Cassandra went to pull the book off the shelf again in a rush. That had to be a sign, didn’t it? Cassandra slammed the book down on the desk and flipped to the right page. She read every word until none of them made sense anymore. There was nothing of significance on the page. Had she been wrong? Or was page 66 only part of it?

She looked at the rest of the numbers. Maybe it was that common, page number then corresponding word number, code. She tried that until she ran out of combinations. Then she dropped her head onto the opened book and groaned. She may have run out of options now, but she wasn’t about to give up on it. Moderation, she reminded herself. Everything in moderation.

Another week went by and she kept up her mantra of balancing everything out, despite the frenzied thoughts of the puzzle's potential solutions that periodically flooded her mind. By the week after that, the unbreakable code was really beginning to eat at her. She thought of mentioning it to Constance, but then thought better of it. Best not to drag her into her craziness too far. She didn’t want to ruin a good thing, and it was great between them. Better than great. It was wonderful. For the first time in her life, Cassandra was falling in love.

By the end of the month, Cassandra had lost her focus, her rhythm. She called and visited Constance less than usual. She missed the deadline for one article and barely managed to make another. She even paid Simon less attention, though she’d noticed he got plenty enough from Moira, and the occasional affection from Nora as well, who appeared to now be thriving. Breaking her cycle of sorrow had actually helped.

Cassandra, however, reverted back to old habits. She stayed solely focused on that bookmark and its possible code. She’d googled common codes, tried really obscure ones that probably weren’t actual codes at all, but just something that her mind had made up in attempt to keep her sane. Nothing seemed to work. She was losing it. Had she spent all this time fretting and obsessing over nothing? A break. She needed a break. Nothing big. She wouldn’t leave the house, just stay in and take a couple days to unwind, let the mania over those damn numbers go for a while. Maybe if she just left them be, something would come to her in a couple of days time when she looked at them again. If not, then it was to the trash for the crummy old piece of scrap.

It was a challenge, but Cassandra forcibly pulled herself away from everything and focused on something else. A marathon of horror classics on tv, listening to Vivien play her cello in the living room, reading a novel, anything to keep her mind occupied. She called Constance a couple of times to assure her that she was still alive, which was apparently a genuine concern of Constance’s, but she didn’t go over to her place. She didn’t think it was wise just yet. They may be on the verge of taking things to the next level and Cassandra was a bit paranoid about scaring her off if she found her in a state like this.

Finally, after what seemed like forever for her, but had in all actuality been forty eight hours and hardly a minute more, Cassandra went back into the library and took another look at the torn bookmark and it’s taunting numbers. Pages. Maybe they were all just pages. If she put them in order, then there’d be a number of different pages she’d need to look at. Page 66, obviously. It had to be. Next would be 79, then 138 and 295. She read all of them. They didn’t connect. They didn’t even have a general theme. They were only excerpts from stories Phineas had collected. "Ugh, Simon, what do I try now," Cassandra asked out of frustration. The cat meowed once. Cassandra then suddenly perked up as a bout of inspiration hit her, and in her burst of energy she swooped the cat up in her arms and pressed a kiss to his furry head. "That’s it! Simon, you absolute genius! The first word on each page."

Cassandra sat the cat down gently and began to try and decipher her code again. She flipped to the pages in order. 66. 79. 138. 295. Writing down the words as she reached them, Cassandra felt the rush of adrenaline course through her. This had to be it. As she finished penciling down the last word, it all clicked. She hadn’t really been paying attention to them as she’d transcribed them, though her subconscious picked up on it. Cassandra's lead snapped at the end of the last word from the pressure she was now putting on the pencil.

Her blood turned to ice in her veins as she read the simple sentence it translated to. I. Killed. Your. Family. I killed your family. That’s what it said. But, that wasn’t possible. Cassandra suddenly lost the ability to think rationally. Phineas, he said, he said that he’d had the book printed especially for her. But no, it couldn’t be. This wasn’t possible. He —the book— the whole time it had been him? Cassandra's breathing was uneven, the stress nearly causing her to have a panic attack. She couldn't keep sitting here and staring at these pages, those words. Those, sick, sick words. She still didn’t want to believe them. She couldn’t believe them, though deep down she knew they were the truth she’d been looking for. Now, she didn’t even want to think about them. She had to do something, anything else, something that would take her fully away from all this.

Heart still pounding fiercely, Cassandra shoved back her chair, tipping it over and scaring the cat who darted to another room. She left it there and bounded for the front door. Slamming the door behind her, but not bothering to lock it, she ran over to Constance's house and frantically knocked on the door, not stopping until Constance swung the door open. Cassandra's eyes were wide and wild. Her breaths still came to her sharply, and she feared she was on the verge of a breakdown. She would do anything, anything to stop it.

"Cassandra, are you alright," Constance asked. The words were hardly out before Cassandra pulled Constance into a rough, passionate kiss. She needed to feel...something, anything other than whatever it was she was feeling, if she was even feeling anything at all. She couldn’t really tell anymore. Constance didn’t resist, didn’t question it. She wanted this almost as much as it seemed that Cassandra needed it. If she wanted to talk about it after, then so be it. Now, they were well beyond words.


	8. Apprehension And Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra has some time to fill before she comes face to face with Phineas Black. Will she keep her cool, or go off the deep end?

The morning light hit Cassandra's eyes and she squinted into it. Shading her eyes against the glare, she cast her glance to Constance, who lay beside her, still asleep. As much as she wanted to stay for breakfast and pretend everything was fine, she knew she couldn’t, not today. She’d explain everything to her soon enough, but now, she had a few things to take care of.

She got out of Constance’s bed and the sudden lack of coverage that the sheets had provided sent a chill through her body as she reached for her clothes that were scattered haphazardly across the floor. Slipping back into them, Cassandra looked regretfully at Constance. She felt so guilty about just leaving without a word, but she could see no other solution at the moment. Did she regret what happened last night? She didn’t think so. It had been a rash decision on her part, but she could never regret being with Constance.

Cassandra dreaded going back to the house. Everything would be just how she left it, unless Moira had tidied up the mess she’d made. That was unlikely, as Moira and her had reached an understanding about the state of her library and office space. Still, she wasn’t sure she could face it. And what was she going to do anyway? She had her answer, but somehow she still lacked a solution. She couldn’t just accuse him over the phone. She wasn’t about to fly out to see him in person. Did she even want to, knowing what she knew now? But she couldn’t just continue on with her life when he was still out there. The police wouldn’t do shit for her. No evidence, no crime. Hadn’t that been what they’d told her once? All she had were some page numbers and the man's book and that was hardly enough to reopen a six year old cold case. She knew she’d have to do something, but she’d have to do whatever it was by herself.

She stood at the phone, staring at it in near catatonia for almost an hour. In one swift motion, she finally picked it up and called him, hoping she could hold everything together until she was done with the call. Her heart skipped a beat when he picked up the phone. "Phineas," she began.

"Cassandra, is that you? I haven’t heard from you since before the move. How are you liking California?"

"It's fine," she replied, a bit brusquely, before mentally reminding herself to keep calm. "A bit too warm, but it’s okay." She couldn’t believe the ease in which she was handling this conversation. "Would you like to visit," she asked, surprising herself as the words fell from her lips. "I have some research I’d like to run by you." She was starting to feel sick at how easily the lies came one after another. She didn’t know what she was doing, but whatever it was, it was too late to take any of it back.

"I’d be honored, of course. How does next month look for you? I’m headed off on sabbatical starting the first. I could be to California in no more than a week from then."

Cassandra stuttered a bit. "I, um, yeah, that sounds great. I don’t think I have anything planned other than the usual articles and such." She gulped. Her ability to lie was starting to fade. She was getting too worked up hearing his voice on the phone. She did still have her articles, but the and such was a bit fudged. She didn’t have her research anymore. She had her answer. What was she supposed to do for the next month besides sit in her house and go stir crazy?

"Great. I cannot wait to see you. I’ll book a flight tonight and email you with the details. Until then," he trailed off, waiting for her to reciprocate the pleasantry.

"Until then," she echoed on autopilot. The call disconnected and she slammed it on the table. She used to look forward to seeing this man every day. Just the thought of that now made her stomach wrench. How she’d managed that conversation was a marvel.

Cassandra picked the phone up again, assuring she didn’t break it. She hadn’t, not even a crack, despite her excessive use of force. Shaking off her jitters, she made a call to Constance, apologizing to her for leaving the way she did, and inviting her over. She believed she was going to be seeing a lot more of Constance in the coming month. It might be the only way she was going to stay sane until her visit with Phineas Black. Another shudder ran through her. Now even his name evoked a visceral response in her. She had to try and stop thinking about it.

Constance came over that evening, any indiscretion forgotten between them. Constance had made less of a fuss about Cassandra's early morning departure than Cassandra had. It was a relief to Cassandra to have one less thing for her to worry about. Putting the whole thing behind them, they sat down to dinner as they often did, and shared a nice meal. Cassandra had realized she wasn’t as bad of a cook as she originally thought. Not that she considered picking it up as a hobby, but she was no longer a disaster in the kitchen like she had been during her college years.

She was able to forget her problems when she was with Constance, and if there was one thing she needed right now, it was that. In addition, she also buffed up her workload by taking on some more articles for various magazines and blogs, signed up for a couple of small speaking engagements locally, and spending many of her mornings, afternoons and nights with Constance. And of course there was always Simon for when she did find herself without human company.

The ghostly residents mostly kept to themselves, though Cassandra did run into a bit of a rough patch when she was at her worst in dealing with her big revelation. It was like they were antagonizing her, daring her to add herself to their numbers. A little bit of a dive into spirit exorcisms and banishments was all it took for Cassandra to put that problem to rest. The comfortable familiarity of research followed by a real, practical solution was enough to make Cassandra feel like she was on top of the world.

When the date of Phineas's arrival approached, she was back to feeling apprehensive. She told Constance about her plans to see him over lunch, leaving out the vital detail of him being her family's killer. She didn’t want Constance to say, or heaven forbid, even do anything about it if she told her, so she decided it would be best not to say anything about it at all. She didn’t even know what _she_ was going to do about it. All she knew for sure is that she wanted to hear him say it to her face. Then she’d definitively know that this wasn’t all some sick joke or utterly insane coincidence.

"Do you want me to come over for dinner that night, to put you at ease?"

"What?" Cassandra was taken away from her thoughts when Constance spoke up. "Oh, no. I’ll be fine. I just haven’t seen him in so long," Cassandra played off, though even to her, the explanation fell flat. Constance must have sensed her anxiety about the whole thing, and if she thought anything was fishy about her deflection, she said nothing. "Can I call you after though, just in case."

Constance smiled warmly. "You don’t have to ask. Of course you may. I’ll only be a call, or a door away." Constance rose from her seat and stepped over to Cassandra who remained in her chair. Bending down and placing a kiss on her cheek, Constance bid her farewell.

As the few remaining days crept by, Cassandra became more and more on edge. What was she going to do? Hell, what was she even going to say? How was she going to get him to admit to what he’d done? Should she record their conversation? Would that be enough to get him arrested? So many questions ran through her mind and so very few answers. And finally, the day came. He'd emailed her that morning. He’d be in by dinner that night.


	9. Confronting Her Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra finally confronts Phineas face to face. Can she handle it, or will she crack under the pressure?

When Cassandra's doorbell rang that evening, she jumped. She’d done nothing but wait for it for hours, yet the sound still startled her. Taking a deep, calming breath, Cassandra smoothed out her already wrinkle free black slacks and pulled her grey cardigan tighter over her chest. The house had always been drafty, but she seemed to be unable to shake the chill. With her hand on the doorknob, she swung it open and put on a smile. "Cassandra," Phineas greeted warmly.

"Phineas, you haven’t changed a bit," she enthused, hoping her clenched teeth weren’t noticeable. She was so on edge she felt that she was very nearly vibrating. How she was going to get through dinner was a notion she couldn’t fathom. Somehow she was going to have to manage, so she could keep in control of the situation tonight. She couldn’t let him know something was off. He had to think she was still oblivious.

Cassandra silently showed him to the dining room, gesturing for him to take a seat. "Dinner should only be a minute more. Just have to check that everything cooked thoroughly. I didn’t know exactly what time you’d be here, so I’ve just had it on a low simmer." She felt ridiculous explaining this to him. So, before she said anything else that made her seem like a madwoman, she excused herself to the kitchen without another word.

Standing next to the stove, she clutched the edges of the countertop, turning her knuckles white. She took a couple of deep breaths, hoping to stave off a full blown panic attack. She had to get through this. Forcing herself to move, she dished up the meal, giving herself a rather small portion. She didn’t trust that she was going to be able to stomach much of anything at all. Simon acknowledged her with a concerned meow as she glanced at the cupboard under the sink. She knew there was rat poison in there, she’d used it when she first moved in. She shook her head. When Simon was the voice of reason in the house, she knew things were bad. She could hardly believe she’d even considered it. She picked up the plates and went back to the dining room before she changed her mind.

She sat down to dinner with Phineas and tried her hardest not to stare. She was so caught up in wondering how she could have worked with him day in and day out and never seen his true nature. If he had really...done what he’d done, how could she not have seen it in his eyes? Was she that blind? Her answer had been right before her eyes the whole time, and for years she couldn’t fucking see it.

The anger built up within her. She was angry at him, most definitely, but some of that anger was directed towards herself. She’d trusted him, admired him, and this was what she got for it. "So, Cassandra, I heard you met with Benjamin Norrange," Phineas prompted, interrupting Cassandra's muddled thoughts.

"I did," she confirmed. "He was very nice. He pointed me in a whole new direction," she told him, hoping to strike a nerve.

"He did, did he," Phineas asked, seeming only the least bit surprised. She’d have to try harder to get him to let something slip. "Any good leads," he followed up, dabbing his chin with his napkin.

"Nothing too promising. He just informed me that in his professional opinion, it couldn’t have possibly been a demon. He didn’t offer any sure alternatives, but he gave me something to rule out."

"Progress then," he stated in a satisfied tone. It almost sounded arrogant to Cassandra's ears, which only infuriated her more. She wasn’t going to get anything out of him this way, and if she had to make small talk much longer, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Her patience was wearing dangerously thin.

Abruptly, Cassandra shoved her chair back and got up from the table. "I’ve completely forgotten to feed Simon! You will excuse me, won’t you?"

"Of course. Can’t let you allow the poor kitty to starve." He grinned, and his smile was sickening to her now. She was glad she hadn’t ate any more than a few bites off her plate. Waking off to the kitchen, again in attempt to regain her composure, Cassandra ignored the cat's food bowl. She’d already fed him, it had only been an excuse to catch a breath of air. The idea of the poison popped back into her mind, but she quickly shoved it away again. There had to be a way to get him to admit it. She needed to hear it from his own smug mouth. Only then could she accept it and truly begin to heal.

Five whole minutes passed and Phineas was beginning to wonder about Cassandra. She had seemed so unlike herself tonight. So tense. And now, well she hadn’t yet come back. Could something be amiss? He couldn’t hear anything from the kitchen. He decided to go look for her. Wandering into the kitchen, he found it empty. There was no sign of her here at all. No hint to where she disappeared to in this grand old haunted house of hers.

Cassandra had retreated to the basement as if it was calling her. Maybe she sought the peace of the dark, near empty and completely silent space. She couldn’t really get that anywhere else. But, as she descended the stairs, her thoughts started becoming more clear, getting the better of her. She wasn’t in the basement for peace, she was there for a purpose. She’d seen it the first time she went down those stairs, and she hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now it was the only thing she could think about. She reached out, slowly, as if part of her was still trying to fight the urge, but her fingers finally wrapped around a long, wooden handle.

Phineas continued on his meandering path through the house, passing through hall, checking for her in the library he’d caught sight of when they’d passed to get to the dining room. He figured of all places, she’d most likely be there. She always did have her nose buried in books. Poor girl, couldn’t see anything that was happening around her if it wasn’t printed on paper in front of her.

He smirked to himself as made the first move to leave the library, having turned up nothing in that room either. As he stepped foot out of the room that was packed with all of her silly paranormal tomes, and he spotted her. Looking through the door of the hall, he saw her standing there. She must have just come up the stairs from the basement. And she had an axe.

He darted through the hall and to the foyer. "You’re not going anywhere, Phineas," Cassandra shouted after him, following at a brisk pace, slowed only a little by the weight of the long handled axe. She’d equipped the door with three deadbolts when she’d found out it was him who’d murdered her family. She was scared that he would somehow know that she’d figured it out.

"Hands off the locks," she commanded. He obeyed and spun around to face her, back pressed against the door. "It wasn’t supposed to go this way," she said, her eyes now bloodshot from the rage that flowed through her. He didn't budge, he only listened. "We were supposed to have dinner and you were supposed to confess, but you’re too arrogant for that, aren’t you?" He opened his mouth to reply. "Don’t answer that," she interrupted. He clenched his jaw shut. "I want you to say it, Phineas. Confess to what you’ve done."

It was unavoidable now, he knew. She’d finally figured out his little puzzle. Cocky of him to have left her the answer in plain sight. Though he must admit, it took her long enough to see it. He smirked to himself, just shadowed enough to escape Cassandra's notice. He’d only one deadbolt left. He could unlock it and run. She wouldn’t come after him. She didn’t have it in her. He turned and his fingers fumbled for the lock. All he had to do was get a grip and turn. His hand was on the cool metal, just getting the last lock turned. It clicked, the sound of his freedom ringing in his ears, but before he could make a move, his world went black.

Cassandra had hit him over the head with the blunt part of the axe. She warned him not to touch the locks. Now, Cassandra now stood over her family's killer, and she felt no fear, no sympathy. What she felt was far more primal. She’d spent years of her life blaming herself for not being able to save her family from this monster, years looking into what could have done this to her parents, her sister, and here he was, in the flesh. The only one with any real blame was him. How she’d believed him, trusted him when he was her mentor. How she’d let him lead her to believe that her parents were murdered by some creature, some animal, when all along it had only been him. She didn’t just feel anger, she felt pure, unfiltered rage. It was like a boiling in her blood, her whole body was hot to the touch, she was nearly sweating. He’d pay for what he’d done.

Phineas began to wake several minutes later. Cassandra stomped her foot onto his chest, knocking the wind from him and holding him in place. "Say it," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Say it," she repeated, though now it was unmistakably a clear, concise command. She’d taken her foot off of him, but did not back away.

Phineas looked up at her, eyes unfocused from the blow to the back of his head, but still they held a conceited spark behind them. Cassandra lifted the axe, and held it steady over her head. "I killed your family, and I enjoyed every second I spent ripping them apart," Phineas gloated, laughing darkly as he lorded his one last victory over her.

Cassandra still clutched the long handled axe in both of her hands and now she swung, embedding the blade deep in his neck and shoulder. Hearing him gasp and gurgle, she then ripped the axe from his throat. Blood gushed and covered the floor. He instinctively reached for the wound, but it was too deep and he was bleeding out too fast to stop the flow even a little. His eyes remained open in the grip of terror, but he’d gone slack. He was dead. "I guess all monsters really are human," Cassandra said, setting the bloody axe down, propping it against the staircase.

She sat herself down on the steps as well. Her thoughts and feelings all floated around within her until she wasn’t sure which was which anymore. She couldn’t think, she didn’t feel anything, or perhaps she was just feeling too much at once. Disgust, shame, satisfaction, relief. All of them were present, but she couldn’t really decipher one from another. She felt like herself again, however. That pull that called to her had let her go. It was the house, she supposed. Constance had said something about what the house did to people shortly after she’d moved in, though she couldn’t recall her exact words at the moment.

She cast a glance over at Phineas's body, and her stomach turned. The blood still pooled around and under him, slower now, but still it flowed. Her eyes fixed on him, Cassandra pulled her phone out from the pocket of her blood splattered cardigan. She made the only call she felt she could make. "Constance, can you help me hide a body?"


	10. Homes Old And New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the deed done, Cassandra is ready for some more changes, and work her way to finally moving on.

Constance had come right over, finding Cassandra sitting on the stairs, face and clothes splattered with blood. If Cassandra hadn’t just killed a man, she may have taken more notice of how genuinely unfazed Constance had seemed about the whole ordeal. She’d come with several jugs of bleach, which she sat on the floor nearby.

Cassandra, her eyes fixed on Phineas' body, was completely zoned out. Only when Constance had put a hand under her chin, tilting her head to look at her did she realize she’d even come in. "I would kill or die for you," she said, letting Cassandra know that she was in this just as much as she was. "Now let’s clean this up."

After a long night of digging and scrubbing, Cassandra had explained everything to Constance over a cup of coffee the following morning. She'd been remarkably levelheaded through the whole thing. Almost as if she'd done it before in some other life. She shuddered at the thought. She’d stayed at Constance's house the night of the incident, and every subsequent night after. She moved in, really. All of her stuff made its way over, and Simon had made himself right at home that very first night.

Cassandra had frequent nightmares that first week at Constance's, and sporadic ones thereafter, but over time, the trauma, and the memory began to fade. It would never completely leave her, but it was almost as if someone else had done it, and she had only watched it on a screen. That was not that case, of course, and no matter how much she was able to distance herself from the event, she’d always know the truth of it all. He’d killed her family, and she had killed him in turn for it.

After the first and second months had gone by, she was back to what passed as normal most days. She got back to work on her articles. She spent time with Simon and Constance. She laughed again, smiled, ate three square meals a day. She was doing well, thriving even, considering. She knew she would have let the house take her had she stayed there alone all this time. It would have swallowed her up just like it had to all its previous owners. Without Constance, she’d be just another buried body.

It was now three months later, and Phineas Black's body had been long taken care of, buried in the backyard under the cover of night. He was the latest addition to the numerous other unfortunate souls that the house had claimed over the decades. And it was nearing the anniversary of her family's murder. Seven years it will be this year. It took her seven years to get the answer she’d so desperately longed for. Seven years before she could have any closure and truly feel like her family could be at peace.

She’d always visited their graves on that fateful day, it had become a tradition of hers, and she always said that one year, she’d come with answers. It was about time she finally came through on that promise. Never had she been so far from home though. She’d always walked to the cemetery from her apartment. Now she was on the opposite side of the country. She brought up the subject to Constance, about going to visit. "Let me come with you," Constance had offered.

"Would you," Cassandra asked. She’d always gone alone before, but this time was different. It would be nice to have Constance come with her.

"I could have us packed and ready to go tomorrow," she said, her warm smile was a great comfort to Cassandra right about now. "I’ll take care of everything," Constance continued. And she kept her word. She booked the flight, found a hotel, and did, by far, most of the packing.

Cassandra felt odd going back to Massachusetts. Back home, though she supposed it wasn’t exactly home anymore. Her home was with Constance. If she’d been asked a year ago if she’d ever consider California her home, she would have laughed, or scoffed, or called the notion preposterous. Not anymore. Not after everything. Somehow, it felt as if she was meant to go there. To live in that house full of ghosts and meet Constance, to give the house its next victim, but not be one herself. Fate or chance, she came out of it alive, with answers, and with a sense of peace.

Constance rented them a car, though Cassandra insisted on driving because she knew the area better. It was hard to hold back the tears as she drove. A lot of emotions were hitting her at once. Grief for her family. She’d never had much of a chance to grieve them properly, not when she didn’t know what, no, who, killed them. The tears were also happiness, relief. She was free. Free of the burden of not knowing. Free of the man who’d deceived her for years, making her near crazy searching for something that was right there in plain sight. Finally, after having driven most of the way on autopilot, they were there.

Cassandra parked and got out of the car, walking down the long gravel pathway to her family's graves. Constance followed suit, but kept her pace a few steps behind Cassandra's. This was the first time she had ever brought anyone else with her, not even Simon had been given this privilege. He was currently resting in the middle of the hotel's king sized bed. This was the first time for a lot of things, actually. The first time she visited and actually had answers. The first time she could stand in front of the graves without feeling like a failure. She knew what killed them, or rather who, she reminded herself again, and she’d been able to exact her revenge on the man. "You can rest now," she said, her voice somber and quiet. "All of you." A tear fell from her cheek and hit the cool, hard ground as Cassandra bent over to place the rose on her sister’s grave. It wasn’t just for her now, but for all of them. Her mom, her dad, Emily and even herself. There’d be no more sleepless nights endlessly researching, no more figurative monsters to chase. It was all over. She could go home, live her life for herself now. Perhaps she’d get a job teaching history at a local university. Learn to cook more than three different meals. Maybe even ask Constance to marry her.


End file.
